22 Days
My back is on fire and no amount of lotion is easing the burn. On the way to my last day of detention, I try to rush past Colter as he’s shoving books inside his locker. At this point I’d do anything to avoid the awkward dance we’ve been doing since I got my tattoo. I’m almost past him when he looks up and our gazes meet. At first I think he’s going to say something, but he stays quiet, opting to glare at me instead. He slams the locker door and shoves past me, making a point to graze my arm with his. The needles come back where he’s touched. I still don’t know what it means. Are needles a good or a bad thing?
I ignore the feeling and head to detention.
Mrs. Benton isn’t here; instead Mr. Chandler is asleep in the chair in front. There are a few other kids in the room, but they are all on their phones, playing a game, texting, or tweeting from the looks of it. Dean is sitting next to me and he’s said a few words to me today. But mostly he’s still quiet and moody.
I try to remember the last time I was around him. It was summer, I think. “Hey, have you been back to the park where we built our fort?”
I watch his face for a reaction. He lets a small smile slip. “No, but I always wanted to go back.”
“Things were so much easier when we were little.”
“Yeah, they were.”
Something clicks in me, like every moment in my life is a puzzle piece and I have to snap each piece together for things to make sense.
He searches my face, a confused expression building in his features.
“It was easier, wasn’t it?” I glance at him and try to read his possible reaction to what I’m about to suggest. I can’t. It’s either going to be good or he’s going to push me away more. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To the park.”
“You’re deranged.”
“He won’t even know we’re gone,” I whisper.
He gives me a look like I’ve grown a third arm.
“Come on. It may be the last time we can.”
Contemplation then acceptance and then I have him. “Fine. It’s better than being here,” he says, indulging my craziness.
He gets up, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and walks out the door. Mr. Chandler doesn’t make a move. I follow Dean out the door, garnering stares from the others in the room, but only for a second before their heads tilt back to their phones.
? ? ?
The park’s only a mile from the school so we walk. I keep glancing over at him, and he is at me. It’s a weird sort of lost friendship feeling bubbling up inside me. Dean had always been a good friend when we were kids. He’d been there when I needed someone. I’d always had more guy friends than girls. Girls just didn’t get me, I guess, or maybe I pushed them away. I don’t know. I wanted to climb trees instead of play house or with dolls, and I liked playing violent video games—the more blood and gore the better.
“The swings are still that same hideous yellow. Do they ever change it?” I say, squeezing into one of them, letting my feet drag on the sand.
Dean sits in the one next to me and twists in it, making the chains cross. “I think they just keep repainting it the same color over and over.”
“That’s so depressing.”
He lets out a laugh that doesn’t sound funny. It sounds sad. “Yeah, well. A lot of things are depressing these days.”
“True.”
“You know, Jackson liked you too. It wasn’t just me.”
I glanced over at him. “I know. He told me.”
“But he never told you about me?”
“No. That was new information.”
“You had this bike. It was the worst color pink I’d ever seen,” he says, twisting in the swing, avoiding my gaze. “I remember when you left it at Walmart and someone stole it. You cried on my shoulder.”
“It had rainbow streamers. I loved that damn bike.”
“I wanted to make you stop crying. That’s all I could think of.”
“I remember. You told that horrible joke about ketchup.”
“It made you laugh.”
“I was nine years old. I laughed at my feet.”
He laughs again, but this time it sounds real. “What happened to those kids?”
I sigh and look toward the sun. Half of it is hidden behind red and orange clouds. That crazy dance again, but this time during the day. “They grew up. And got jaded.”
“Except for Jackson.”
“Except Jackson.”
Just then my phone rang out. “Speak of the devil,” I say, answering my phone.
“Ellery Stevens. Did you skip out on detention, young lady?” he says in a low voice that’s supposed to sound authoritative.
“How do you know I’m not sitting in there right now?” I stare at Dean and roll my eyes.
“Because I’m staring into the room.”
“Busted.” I glance over at Dean. “Dean’s with me. We’re at the park.”
Jackson pauses. “The park?”
“Yes, the park.”
“Okay. I’m going to pretend that isn’t weird. Except it really is,” Jackson says.
“Okay, I gotta go.”
“Wait. I called you for a reason.”